Silence is Sexy

Rerelease

Tracklist

Silence is Sexy, Sabrina

It's not the red of the dying sun
The morning sheets surprising stain
It's not the red of which we bleed
The red of cabernet sauvignon
A world of ruby all in vain
It's not that red
It's not as golden as Zeus famous shower
It doesn't come, not at all, from above
It's in the open but it doesn't get stolen
It's not that gold
It's not as golden as memory
Or the age of the same name
It's not that gold
I wish this would be your colour
I wish this would be your colour
I wish this would be your colour
Your colour, I wish
It is as black as malevitch's square
The cold furnace in which we stare
A high pitch on a future scale
It is a starless winternight's tale
It suits you well
It is that black
I wish this would be your colour
I wish this would be your colour
I wish this would be your colour
Your colour, I wish

Silence is Sexy, Silence is sexy

Silence is sexy
Silence is sexy
So sexy
So silence
Silence is sexy
Silence is sexy
So sexy
So sexy
Silence is not sexy at all
L'amusement
Solitude
Die ungesellige Liebe
Die fixe Idee
L'idée fixe
Nur ich & ich & ich & Tinitus
Wenn die Musik endlich aufhört
Ganz von selbst
Silence is sexy
Silence is sexy
So sexy
As sexy as death
Silence is sexy
Silence is sexy
So sexy
So sexy
Just your silence is not sexy at all
Just your silence is not sexy at all
Your silence is not sexy at all!

Is Newton’s graviagitation a natural law?
Naturally not, more likely a crime,
because I didn’t ask for it.
Above all his apple pitfall I opposed
but against my will it was installed.
Since then I find flying increasingly heavy.
If the firm picks it up again I’ll be most obliging
if it doesn’t, then I warn you now and here
I can guarantee nothing, I fear.
Even in a gravity feedback control unit the unity can easily break
and that’s just for the leaden and the lame-winged a crime.

There is only one idiot
and through some or other gap
through some or other gap
he constantly slips inside
I can barricade the door
in darkness lie in wait for days or more
somehow he always catches me
somehow he always gets back inside
he acts dead when I try to throw him out
he acts deaf when I shout at him
he resembles me in the mirror somehow
he just refuses to leave me alone
There is only one idiot...
I can state most clearly, I’ll start all over again
am willing to accept all the consequences
enough of this nonsense, I’ll put things straight
a glance straight from his pretty eyes –the same routine and it’s my turn now
he’s seething somewhere down inside
inside me, inside him I don’t know
his presence cannot be prevented
and somehow I know his face
It’s that idiot again!
There is only one idiot...
He constantly makes the same mistake
right down to the fifth place after the point
he makes me old and easily predictable
that he knows me is quite probable
When I try to fall asleep
he never stops his prattle
it strikes me: that’s a voice I know
keeps reminding me of myself somehow
There is only one idiot
and through some or other gap
through some or other crack
through some or other unattended hole
he constantly slips inside
Here comes the great Zampano!
Somehow the hole was his creation
I conceal myself within my niche
and wait without any inhibition
for him at long last to take away the only idiot
and if he won’t go by himself
I’ll just have to come too

Silence is Sexy, Heaven is of honey

Heaven is of Honey
and kisses
beeswork
blossomchannels
How do I know?
How could I forget?
Heaven is in the making
a buildingsite
a possibillity
If there's a glimpse of it
In the little dance of tongues
As a reminder!
Heaven is all remembered
is an idea
for idiots
possessed by gods
that just waste space
and in case I wake up without a pen
I do not want to forget
Heaven is of Honey
and kisses
Royal Jelly
for the queenbee
in the center
How do I know?
How could I forget?

Silence is Sexy, Beauty

You see half the moon, its crescent, and one of the planets, maybe Saturn, maybe Jupiter, in the early night sky over Berlin, through the windows of a taxicab, near Potsdamer Platz.
You think: Beauty.
No, this is not beauty, maybe not, maybe, this is the rest of it, maybe not, maybe, the rest of beauty,
maybe not, maybe, what remains of beauty, maybe not, maybe, what is visible, certainly, uncertain.
Your arms would not be able to stretch as far as necessary to form an adequate gesture for beauty
(You know that, don't you?).
So, beauty remains in the impossibilities of the body.

Across the scarfaced terrain
slowly disappearing
only phantom pain remains
Scarcely audible foul laughter seeps out
from the red Info Box
making some turn quietly in their graves
Nothing but future ruins
material for the next layer
Mela, Mela, Mela, Mela, Melancholia
Melancholia, mon cher,
Mela, Mela, Mela, Mela, Melancholia
floats over the new city
and over the land
Over the control centres
over the stubble fields of concrete
over the secret net of bunkers
refusing to be wiped out
Marlene go home!
also over the Marlene-Dietrich-Platz
The new temples are already cracked
future ruins
one day grass will also grow over the city
over its final layer
Mela, Mela, Mela, Mela, Melancholia
Melancholia, mon cher,
Mela, Mela, Mela, Mela, Melancholia
floats over the new city
and over the land
In the lascerated sky
flown to bits by the jets rehearsing
she hangs with widespread wings
sleepless and with frozen gaze
pointed at rubble
behind her the future piling up
slowly she flies higher and higher
at last surveys the entire land
What is the lay of the land?
What is the lay of the land?
What is the lay of the land?
What is the lay of the land?

The place it occured was November grey, steady drizzle rain
come with me
above the birds, the clouds, to the highest point
I have donned the coronet of rays, Corona
in it mirrored my gleaming head
be my passenger
standing in the headwind, in the solar wind
in shimmering gold, in purple swathed
through peril leads our path and images of beasts
Come aboard my sun barque!
come aboard my sun barque!
In the crimson east Aurora opens up her rose portals
the stars take flight
the moon’s sickle paling at its rim
our course climbs steeply as we embark at dawn
reaching giddy heights in the apex of the sky
the path tips abruptly towards its end
Come aboard my sun barque!
come aboard my sun barque!
The darkness banished
with furious flames
consuming blaze
the whole world cracks apart
even in the underworld light seeps in through cracks
filling its rulers with fear and dread
Come aboard my sun barque!
come with me aboard my sun barque!
Come with come with come with come with come with me
Come with come with come with come with come with me
Come with come with come with come with come with me
Come with come with come with come with come with me
Come aboard my sun barque!

If I’m kissed by the muse I want to dance, not for certain, but possibly
When I’m dancing I want to drink, not for certain, but possibly
When I’m drinking I have to sing, not for certain, but possibly
When I’m singing then she’ll kiss me, possibly
I first danced with Mnesmosyne, who, I believe, was a genuine Muse
Inbetween I drank mixed drinks, that were called, I believe, Amnesia
At some point I began with my singing and kept on singing till the cleaners came
If I’m kissed by the muse I want to dance, not for certain, but possibly
When I’m dancing I want to drink, not for certain, but possibly
When I’m drinking I have to sing, not for certain, but possibly
When I’m singing then she’ll kiss me, possibly

Everything
Everything
Everything that’s of any use
Spring nymphs, Dionysus,
substances, tap dances,
drumsticks, rose shrubs,
new shoes, nice knees,
Miracoli,
Hahnemann and globulae
Everything
Everything
Everything that’s of any use
Each time each year at hogmanay
music for humidifier and celesta
the bottle, the tower, the moon and aspirin
mushrooms that get found
alternating current, moved masses
a freshly made bed, stain killer and vanilla
icing sugar, energy-saving measure
French kissing in a tête-à-tête
everything is reinvented
Everything
Everything
Everything that’s of any use
Everything that is, that was, was not enough
is reinvented
everything that was, was an excuse for the birds
the whole world de-acidified, filtered
fermented, distilled and as ‘carpe diem’
the universal world spirit, avidly consumed by us
all abuse followed by a morning after
is common use
but as an excuse for the birds
for me and the bacchante
rapture is still a must
icing sugar, energy-saving measure
French kissing in a tête-à-tête
Everything
Everything
Everything that’s of any use

My hands, my arms, my legs, my body and I
the immutable, indestructible, self, I.
The centre, the nucleus, the entire human cell culture.
Am I, is me in every cell?
Though hardly ‘I’ is the sum of the genetic material,
as if the music were lodged inside the radio’s wiring diagram.
Is there anything redundant, solidified, that can be peeled off, that can
be discarded like ballast, sandbags out of a free balloon?
Layer for layer, epidermis, mesenchyme and dermis, fibres, muscles,
tendons, flesh, capillaries, veins, blood vessels, fatty tissue, nerve tracts, bones,
marrow, skeleton. And where does what remain?
The ‘I’ makes claims as long as a tongue, a fidgeting hand
can claim ‘I’? And if possible, that too is claimed headlessly.
(Like cephalophors, with a single stroke, a head shorter)
Reduct!
What happens in love, outreaching oneself or overstepping, or
the numbness, up to a certain point, that point where still ‘something’ remains.
The hollow nut (that has not developed), anyway: development,
as if something had been enveloped, Ariadne’s thread, unrolled to its fullest length,
needing to be used up. Always along the wall, dead certain,
the way out of the garden, the garden maze.
I wander to while away time as if time might otherwise descend on me, like a scavenging beast.
Reduct!
Let’s just reduce the lot on a slow flame!
Reduct!
We peer into the stream of the perished now being swept down the passage of time,
through the delta towards the mouth, out into the gaping cosmic ocean.
Are there any more coming? Do corpses have something left to say?
Besides: Look! Scandal! We are they who you are still to become! We are there! You are not!
But death stays hated to all of human nature
it tears down hope almost to the ground
Reduct!
The foundations are in the wrong place, this house should have been set in the heavens,
so the gods can die, regularly and in temporally classical proportions.
The golden section through the throat of a venerable celestial body that
then, in short thrusts, ejaculates its divine blood into the seraphic summer morning,
because it is forever summer, until one or the other, me included, can say:
Finally, infinitely, left in peace, but moveable, free to make noise, without guilt!
Reduct!

Above lovers stands no law
Among lovers rules count nothing
Because of lovers there is possibility
And without lovers a search is worth nothing
Howanyhowanyhowhowany
Above lovers stands no law
Among lovers runs the sweet path
Close to lovers melts the eternal ice
but without lovers failure is programmed
You’ll fail today, fail tomorrow
fail better and better
And some day you’ll not fail
Howanyhowanyhowhowany? Indeed
Today Fortuna is playing chess again with you
speculating that you’ll lose your queen
You go into town and fail to find her
That’s what it looks like, you lose the game
Or possibly? It ends in stalemate
A return match Fortuna will seldom play
With a kiss you foil her strategy
Howanyhowanyhowhowany
Above lovers stands no law
Among lovers rules count nothing
Behind lovers words have been cleared
But without lovers merely speechless flat land
In spite of bruises and injuries
I’ll give you herewith new surahs,
Exclusively for those for whom nothing stands
Howanyhowanyhowhowany
Howanyhowanyhowhowany
Howanyhowanyhowhowany
Howanyhowanyhowhowany
Indeed

Silence is Sexy (2000-2011) – Finally, Einstürzende Neubauten’s long-awaited reissue on the band’s own label Potomak
Silence is not sexy at all!!! The power of soft tones.

The element of surprise was and continues to be routine for the Einstürzende Neubauten. On “Silence is Sexy” they masterfully celebrate the unexpected in the exploration of silence.

“Silence is Sexy” is a wonderful album in the classical Neubauten sense; lyrical and melancholy. It’s a musical coming-of-age from metal-defying scrap iron sound to constructed melodiousness, with a familiar rhythmic undertow and a bittersweet melancholy – playful, arrogant, poetic, subversive, dandified and mature.

From its first release in 2000 (marking the 20-year existence of the band) to date, it has doubtlessly remained the most complex work of the Neubauten and the most fascinating in its evolution. It shows the Neubauten universe from both a known, emotionally moving side, as well as one that is deliberately constructive. It clearly breathes the inimitably rough Neubauten handwriting, while Blixa’s voice cuts through intellectual and cryptic texts. It is carried by metal sounds, from which individual instruments can almost no longer be extracted – and by silence. Ultimately, nearly inaudible tones or laughter in the right place can seem more destructive than the most enduring rage.

A fascination with improvisation including musical intricacies and special instruments had always been their trademark and continues here in a completely new, impressive way. Plucking the soft, subtle tones, the band permits itself irony and self-mockery. This sounds humorous, melancholy and astonishingly tender, despite conscious cross-references to their loud beginnings.

The band – Blixa Bargeld, Andrew Unruh, Alexander Hacke, Jochen Arbeit and Rudolf Moser – now celebrate percussive minimalism instead of archaic rhythms, tender ethereal sounds instead of infernal noise and razor sharp fabulations instead of spontaneous wordplay. The band proceeds calmly, quietly and surprisingly humorously. But even this turning to moderate sounds should be understood as a countermovement. The last line of the title song “Silence is Sexy” declares: “Silence is NOT sexy at all!”

It is the contemplative songs, which constitute the character of the album. Nevertheless, the Neubauten’s dry humor also reveals itself here in amplified flashes, alongside a light looking back to their early experiments. There is not a central song, but many.
In “Sabrina” they raise the question, which color can be assigned to the sounds. Their answer is black. Black is the sound of silence, the color of melancholy, which lies over the country and the city.

“Silence is Sexy,” the title song of the album, moves cyclically hard alongside the complete silence. It is in fact the tantalizing handling of silence that actually makes “Silence is Sexy” so sexy. On the live recorded title song, a bass swings, accompanied by discreet percussion, over it the voice, and after every verse there is a break in which one hears nothing, but the sizzling sound of a cigarette. The softest noises are made audible, such as taking a drag on a cigarette, breathing and the sounds made in the oral cavity. Movement, pausing and acceleration are the stops along the exploration of ambivalence.
The “Befindlichkeit des Landes” is analyzed as sharp-witted and subtle with laconic metaphors. For this purpose, the master of intellectual pathos unveils an ironic calmness. Blixa Bargeld observes Berlin from the viewpoint of a future archaeologist. On the question about the state of the city and the country, he prophetically answers:

They extended their terrain further, all the same whether “Beauty” is about the reflection between one’s own concepts and perceptions of beauty, whether the question concerned the alleged immovableness of identity in “Redukt” or was simply about humorous pipe dreams, which celebrate fun for its own sake.

However, even the early days were not forgotten: “Zampano” is such a song, Bargeld explains, “that I didn’t want to program or to play, but wanted to record with a pneumatic piston ...” “We must always find something that we haven’t done yet. Of course, this entails that things are constantly becoming more fragile, because we had already savored the brutal at the beginning of the ’80s.”

The syllables and engine noises, the melodies and breaks, the images and the cracks, collectively merge into a sound order against the stillness and the certainty.

They play machine music without rage and anger, reflecting states of mind without blindly following the spirit of the times. It’s an album that won’t be ignored; a unique appearance in the history of German rock music.

The acuteness and subtleties of Bargeld’s text worlds and of the transparent sound architecture constitute a very special Neubauten charm – fragile poetry, wordplay and philosophical lyric poetry instead of the scrapyard. It also takes a lot of courage to be so far beyond good and evil.